Always Keep Smiling
by Raserei Hojo
Summary: Oneshot. In seven years, his sins had piled up.


He sat perched atop the upright piano, one leg with his knee pulled to his chest, the other leg dangling casually in front of the keys. The studio was nearly dark, save for the harsh lamp that hung overhead, but that was all the light he needed. After all, he had done this so many times in the past seven years that he could do it with his eyes closed.

So much time had passed since then, but still his sins were piling up.

Silently, he leaned forward and pressed the blade against his wrist. The blade was dull—perfect for the purpose he had in mind tonight—and it glistened in the light from the ceiling lamp. It felt cool against his wrist and he almost smiled.

_One, for taking him to New York_. Tohma pressed with more force and the tip of the blade pierced his skin. With the grace of someone who had done this countless times, he pulled it across his wrist, creating a thin trail of blood in the metal's wake.

It hurt.

But he'd hurt Eiri more.

_Two, for hiring that man_. He made a second cut, neater than the first but just as long across his wrist. Never down, he reminded himself. If he cut down his arm, he could kill himself. If he was dead, he wouldn't be able to atone for his sins. The pain would end and that wasn't what he deserved—not at all.

_Three, for not paying attention._

_Four, for allowing that man to touch Eiri._

_Five, for coming to the rescue far too late._

_Six, for ruining Eiri's life._

There were six cuts along his wrist, all of them wire-thin but each intense in the pain they caused. They crisscrossed with the scars from previous sessions, creating a stark contrast. He was far from finished, though. Again, the blade found itself pressed firmly against the wrist of the nationally renowned pianist.

_Seven, for ruining the life of Eiri's family._

_Eight, for trying to pretend it never happened._

_Nine, for destroying Eiri's smile._

_Ten, for breaking his promise to his wife._

_Eleven, for…_

For so much more. These cuts weren't enough. They didn't fix anything. Kitazawa had still defiled Eiri—had wrapped that angelic boy around his finger and used him and _ruined _him—and it was all Tohma's fault. Eleven cuts were nothing. Eleven cuts were nothing at all compared to the pain Eiri must have felt that night.

Nothing compared to the pain Eiri must feel every day. Tohma flexed his fingers and pointed his arm downward, allowing the blood to flow to his fingertips and drip onto the keys of the piano. If he didn't clean it up soon, the keys would stain. Honestly, he tried to care, but he simply couldn't. Not tonight.

Tohma carefully placed the bloodied blade on the piano—he didn't want it to fall and vanish from his sight. With his right hand—the one he had used to make the cuts—he ran his fingers along the incisions along his left wrist, smearing the blood and tinting his skin scarlet.

"Eleven," he said aloud as he picked up the blade again, "for making Eiri-san unable to trust anyone."

He made the eleventh cut down his wrist this time and a little deeper than the others. The skin split apart differently when he cut this way and it was intriguing—but it wasn't long before the pain distracted him from this observation. Tohma knew he shouldn't cut this way—that it was dangerous and if he hit a vein, then—but he couldn't help himself.

How could he change the past? He couldn't. Deep down, he knew it was impossible. There was nothing he could do to make Eiri the way he was before. There was nothing he could do to make him smile and laugh and look at the world through naïve eyes. But _why_? Why couldn't he _do _anything?

He had broken him! Why was he incapable of fixing Eiri?

Perhaps it was childish, but he truly wanted to cry. If only it had been him—if _only _he could have taken Eiri's place. Why hadn't it been him?

_Twelve._

_Thirteen._

_Fourteen—fifteen—sixteen—seventeen._

It was so hard to smile all the time, but he had to. It was a punishment he had placed upon himself. Even if he was crumbling apart on the inside, he would smile enough for the both of them.

_Eighteen._

_Nineteen._

_Twen—_

—_click—._

Tohma lifted his head at the sudden noise from the intercom. He was hearing things. That must be it. Nobody would be at NG at this hour—in fact, he was positive that the entire building was locked up apart from the studio. So who would have found their way to the control room and pressed the communication button?

Rats—maybe there were rats in the control room. That made sense—all right, it didn't, but who—

"Seguchi."

_Shit._

_

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**Author's Note: **Inspired by this image (remove the space): deviantart .com/art/Keep-smiling-176283617


End file.
